"Are you sure you don't want to keep anything for yourself?" Nessarose asked pensively, admiring the tastefully decorated paperweight that had always stood on their father's desk. Once she felt up to leaving her bed, she and Elphaba set about cleaning out Frexpar's rooms and sorting through his personal belongings.
"I'm sure, Nessa," Elphaba promised. "I think I've had enough reminders. For today, and possibly forever… Could you scootch over a little? I think it's time to get rid of this old thing."
She started rolling up the dusty carpet spread out on the floor when she noticed a speck of light reflect in something peeking from under a crack between two tiles.
"Hang on… what's this?"
She kneeled down and tried to lift the tile, and when it wouldn't give way, she grabbed a letter opener from the desk and pried it open. In the small dent under the floor lay a thin journal, bound in green-tinted leather, with a gold finish on the corners. The cover seemed strangely familiar, almost inviting Elphaba to take a look inside; and once she'd given into that invitation, she'd immediately understood why she'd felt so drawn to it.
"Melena Thropp", she read out loud, tracing the elegant letter on the inside of the cover. "Nessa… this was—"
"Mother's," Nessarose whispered.
The sisters looked at each other, feeling like they were on the threshold of some sort of sacred territory; neither certain if the other one was ready to take the first step. Finally, Nessarose reached out her hand and, once Elphaba handed her the journal, took a deep breath and began to read out loud.
Well, there it is. In a few months, I will bring a child into this world. There's no use lying to myself anymore, I suppose, and since the bump has already started to show, there was no use hiding it from my husband. He's the one who suggested I start a private journal. He was overjoyed by the news, of course; calling me his queen, his angel, his treasure chest containing the world's most precious gemstone. He says he loves me and I try to hide my disgust. I know that to him, I'm nothing more than the one pretty trinket he just couldn't deny himself.
•••
Apparently I'm already entering my seventh month. It's hard to believe, given how small my stomach still is, but the midwife told me it's not actually that unusual. The child seems to be strong and healthy. I don't care that it makes me sound like a horrible person – I wish it wasn't.
•••
I have not left the house in many days. I have been feeling more and more unwell; nauseated, faint, haunted by migraines. Frexpar is starting to get worried about my health, trying to lure me out of the bedroom by promising to feed me special delicacies he'd bought especially for me, but I don't feel like eating anything. Or doing anything. Or feeling anything.
•••
It's about to be born any day now.
•••
How many more misfortunes will I have to endure in my life? Was it not enough to essentially be sold by my own father, traded, like a common milk cow, into a loveless marriage, forced to become a mother against my will… Why did I also have to give birth to a green child; a horrifyingly green child that – which is, hopefully, only obvious to me – has not been conceived by my husband?
•••
I met him at the market one day last summer. The child's father. He was a travelling salesman, he told me, from someplace far, far away. He had such a way with words; and the way he looked at me… I never told him my real name, of course, and I introduced myself as a servant girl working for the Governor. He never questioned me.
•••
After a few weeks, he told me he was leaving. He asked to meet me somewhere private. He said he wanted to take me with him. He told me I'd be free. So I agreed. Of course I agreed.
•••
The child is much more quiet than I'd expected and been told it would be. It hardly ever cries – mostly it just looks at me with those big, dark eyes. Watching me. It's strange. Yet another reason for Frexpar to despise it. I wonder if he can sense that it's not his, or if he just hates it so much because of its skin.
•••
I only had one night with my mysterious man. One night when Frexpar left for one of his boring assemblies. One night when, for a little while, I was allowed to be free. He had me drink from a strange little bottle, "green elixir," he said, and I was too impatient to question him. So I took a drink, and the rest… the rest was simply too much to put into words.
•••
It's rather ironic, really. I'd thought I was going to give life to a perfect little baby that I would be expected to love, but end up hating. How could the exact opposite have happened? I have given birth to a little monster that everyone, including its supposed father, expects me to hate… Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to stop loving it. Her. My daughter. My little emerald.
•••
She is mine. Mine, and no one else's. Not Frexpar's, certainly. But not her birth father's, either. Not with the way he left after that night. I woke up undressed and alone; the other side of the bed already cold. He must have left before dawn. I never heard from him again. I never got an explanation. I never knew why he'd gone alone, leaving me with nothing but his child growing inside me and a funny little green bottle under my pillow.
•••
I know, my little one, that you may not be able to understand the words I am saying – but I know that you can understand me. You're perfect. You're horrible, disgusting, at times even scary – and that's exactly why you're perfect. You don't belong here, not in this house, not in this town – maybe not in this world. You'll never feel accepted – neither here, not anywhere. You will never experience love, much as you might long for it. And that is what makes you perfect. You're my ultimate act of rebellion, little one. Most likely the only one I'll ever be allowed to have.
•••
You know, my sweet Elphaba, that I don't love my husband. That I despise him. And you also know that he is not your father. That's what I love best about you, little one. It's that we can share secrets like that. For that reason, I hope to never see you grow up. Because then, I'd be too scared you'd betray me.
•••
It was only a matter of time, but I was not prepared for it to happen so soon. And yet here it is. Just a little over a year after Elphaba was born – another child, this one undoubtedly my husband's, is growing inside of me. At least he wasn't as disgustingly happy as the first time, and I know why – he's worried that this one will be green, too. I know it won't, but how would I explain how I know it? It's not like I'm going to show him my little green bottle.
•••
I think Frexpar has just handed me the solution to the problem he'd created. Milk flowers. He's gotten an enormous supply, imported especially from Gillikin, and he has been making me chew them day and night. I hate their taste more than anything else and he knows that, but we're both willing to endure it for the next four months. Him – because he hopes it will make his child be born pale. Me – because I hope it will make his child be born dead.
•••
I've been chewing those horrible milk flowers – twice as many as recommended, though Frexpar obviously doesn't know – for almost two months now. They've made me feel even more sick and lousy than before. I'm feeling weaker and weaker with each passing day.
•••
I can feel the child get weaker too. I can't pretend that I do not feel guilty. I do. But this is not my child. It's his. It has always been and is always going to be his. Elphaba, at least, is mine. I can't force her to grow up overshadowed by Frexpar's new perfect baby. She's already unfortunate enough. So I'm going to keep it up with the flowers. Just two more months. For you, my little emerald, and for me. For both of us.
•••
It hurts so much, all over… But, I haven't felt the child move in many days. The flowers must have worked. I can feel it. Soon, I will be free of this burden… Any day now.
Nessarose stared blankly at the page where the writing stopped, tears she hadn't been aware of falling quietly onto the paper; when she registered a soft sound coming from Elphaba. Her sister was crying. Her strong, tough, unbreakable older sister, who had never been scared of anything, was now quietly sobbing, the tears revealing unspeakable fear and shame and brokenness.
"How could she?!" she cried out, covering her ears, as if trying to unhear what she'd just heard. "How…"
She took a little green vial out of her pocket and stared at it in disdain, before, without any warning, swinging her arm backwards and sending the bottle flying across the room, where it shattered against the wall, erupting into a shower of glass shards and emerald droplets.
"Elphaba…!" Nessarose called out in shock, but her voice caught in her throat. In the past few weeks, she had become painfully aware that her sister was the only remaining family, but only in that moment did she fully realize that Elphaba was just that – her sister. Not her mother, not her guardian, not her nurse – her sister. A young girl who, at times, certainly felt just as lost and vulnerable and scared. A girl who, although she was so used to helping others, sometimes was the one needing help. A girl who just wanted to be loved. A girl just like herself.
And so she did the only thing that felt somewhat right in this situation. She embraced her sister tightly, and they cried together; cried for the world that had failed them, for the life they had both been denied. Their relation by blood may have turned out to be more distant than they'd thought, but in this moment, they felt more closely bonded to each other than ever before.